


High On You

by sassan



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canonical Character Death, It's A Sin, Joseph Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, Underage Drinking, canon-typical drug abuse, mentions of abuse, the focus is on rovinsky, there is a prokovinsky scene tho, underage drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassan/pseuds/sassan
Summary: Kavinsky gave Ronan a pill and swallowed one as well. Ronan watched Kavinsky’s Adam’s apple move as he gulped it down. He had a long, thin neck Ronan wanted to choke. He pushed that thought aside and took his own pill. “Find me in your dream,” Kavinsky said and collapsed on his bed.





	High On You

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by hijackedbylou.tumblr.com! Bless her for reading this SIN.

**High on You**

 

When Ronan figured out Joseph Kavinsky was a dreamer, he laughed at himself. Suddenly, everything made sense. And Kavinsky had known Ronan’s secret all along. The bracelets, the fake IDs, it all had been hints because Kavinsky had already known.

And still, Ronan could not believe it when he entered the Kavinsky mension two weeks later. Kavinsky had shown him where his spare key was and Ronan let himself in, slamming the door shut. Ronan made sure to always announce his presence. He heared Kavinsky’s laugh come from the top of the stairs. Kavinsky stepped out of the shadows and Ronan sucked in a breath because sometimes, he believed Kavinsky was a dream thing himself. The way the moonshine illuminated his sharp, handsome features made him look ethereal.

“Done staring?” he asked and Ronan snorted, slowly climbing the stairs like a predator on the hunt. “How’s Dick?” Kavinsky asked, though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer and he didn’t care anyway. As expected, Ronan said nothing. He reached the top of the stairs and stood in front of Kavinsky. “C’mon, give your boyfriend at least a kiss.”

Ronan snorted again. “You wish.” A part of Ronan wished, too. He wanted to close the gap between them and kiss Kavinsky, hell yes. But he didn’t want to make himself vulnerable to Kavinsky of all people.

“Perhaps. Are you ready to dream?”

Ronan shoved his hands down his front pockets and followed Kavinsky into his room. Being there was still weird. At first, they’d only meet on the fairground or in Kavinsky’shome cinema, but last time Kavinsky had led him up to his room. It was a mess, even worse than Ronan’s room at Monmouth Manufacturing. Everywhere were dream objects, all of them beautiful and working, because Kavinsky was a good thief, no, the best. There were also full and empty alcohol bottles and bags with all kinds of pills, cocaine somewhere, too, scattered across the floor. His room screamed Kavinsky—dangerous as its inhabitant, scary but beautiful at the same time. Ronan hated it, hated being here, just as much as he hated Kavinsky himself.

 

Kavinsky gave him a pill and swallowed one as well. Ronan watched Kavinsky’s Adam’s apple move as he gulped it down. He had a long, thin neck Ronan wanted to choke. He pushed that thought aside and took his own pill. “Find me in your dream,” Kavinsky said and collapsed on his bed.

Ronan joined him soon after. It didn’t take him long to find Kavinsky in his dream place, Cabeswater. He was standing in a clearing the moon high above his head. Ronan almost smiled at the sight. Kavinsky wore his trademark sunglasses and had his hands shoved down his pockets. He looked straight at Ronan.

“Here we are,” he said, his voice not as provoking as usual. His lips were pursed and Ronan almost mistook the expression for a smile. “Only you and I.” Ronan nodded and Kavinsky closed the distance between them.

 

Kavinsky would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him how quiet Ronan was. The questions he asked weren’t the right ones, he knew, but he liked teasing him, if only because he hoped he’d get a reaction out of Ronan one day. Instead of admitting his own weaknesses, he made other people aware of theirs.

Kavinsky smiled to himself. He was a good dreamer and a good thief. For a long time his dreams were the only bearable place to live in. No matter how many nightmares he brought out of them, not even one of them was worse than his father. Rumors had it that Kavinsky had killed him. Rumors weren’t always wrong. But he’d only killed him inside his dreams, countless times. In the end, his mother had sent him away before he could destroy the picture-perfect family image. He didn’t complain. Now he lived at the Kavinsky mansion in Henrietta, the pack often joining him—the house was too big for him alone. It was easy living; he even had a maid who cleaned the house three times a week, which didn’t prevent him still making a mess.

No one cared how many drugs he took. He’d get high or drunk all by himself to give himself a taste of freedom from his father’s abusive words. He had never abused him sexually, but his words had been more than enough. On top of that, he had punched him regularly, too. Kavinsky had grown up hating himself, blaming himself for his father’s mistakes and his mother’s weakness. Sometimes, he hated his mother more than his father. Perhaps that was the reason he loved to make other people aware of their weaknesses. And Ronan had plenty of them. Niall Lynch. Richard Campbell Gansey III. Adam Parrish. Ronan’s father was a taboo because so was Kavinsky’s. That’s why he was bugging Ronan about his relationships with Gansey and Parrish all the time.

Kavinsky met Ronan in his dream, Ronan himself and not some dream version of him. He looked at him through his shades and smirked. “So, you like dick?” Kavinsky asked, his wide grin all teeth. Ronan raised one fine eyebrow, debating whether Kavinsky was talking about penises or Gansey, or both perhaps.

Kavinsky didn’t wait for an answer, and if he had, he’d have waited forever anyway. Instead, he seized Ronan by his hip and kissed him hard. With Kavinsky things weren’t soft, but rough like the concrete of Henrietta’s streets. The kiss tasted of smoke, gasoline, and drugs. Ronan didn’t hesitate and kissed Kavinsky back instantly, hot and hungry. Kavinsky pressed his lower body against Ronan’s, feeling his dick harden. With his other hand, Kavinsky grabbed Ronan’s crotch through his tight jeans.

Ronan almost broke the kiss holding back a moan. Kavinsky bit Ronan’s lower lip, sucking on it, then pushed his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. He parted Ronan’s legs with his knee and rubbed it against his crotch, establishing a rhythm. Ronan thrust his hips forward, again and again, faster and harder. Kavinsky suppressed his own moans. He had to part from Ronan to regain his breath, their foreheads pressed together.

Kavinsky fumbled with Ronan’s pants until he finally opened the zipper, letting his hand slide into his boxers and grabbing Ronan tight. Ronan eagerly pushed his hand into Kavinsky’s expensive sweatpants, his fingers wrapping around his length. Kavinsky put his other hand on the back of Ronan’s neck, holding him in place, their foreheads still pressed together. When Ronan rubbed his thumb against the tip of his cock, Kavinsky couldn’t hold back his moans anymore. Encouraged by the noises Kavinsky made, Ronan moaned too, deep, like a growl. It pushed Kavinsky over the edge and he came hard in Ronan’s hand, who followed soon after, his entire body shaking from the orgasm. He grabbed Kavinsky’s shoulder to steady himself. They pulled their hands back from each other’s pants, but otherwise stayed still for a while, only stealing kisses while their breathing slowed down again.

Kavinsky woke up first. By the time Ronan opened his eyes, Kavinsky had already drawn a line of cocaine. He rested his head against the headboard of his bed, eyes closed. Ronan looked at him for a long time, the wetness in his pants proof that what had happened in the dream had been real. When Ronan sat up, Kavinsky opened his eyes again. There was a galaxy of black holes in them, and Ronan felt himself consumed with them, like Kavinsky was consumed with drugs. He tossed a bag of cocaine at Ronan. “It’s good stuff. Try it.”

To his surprise, Ronan did. Kavinsky showed him how to do it properly and drew one more line for himself as well. It didn’t take long for the drug to kick in and Kavinsky was overcome with euphoria, something he rarely felt when he was sober. He could tell Ronan felt similar by the too-wide and honest smile on his lips, replacing his trademark snarl. Kavinsky pulled him close, kissing him passionately until an idea popped into Kavinksy’s clouded head. He got up, surprising Ronan with the sudden action. Ronan looked at Kavinsky the unasked question in his widened pupils.

“C’mon, move your pretty butt and follow me.” Kavinsky sounded close to laughing, and this was what made Ronan move. He was led downstairs. Kavinsky seemed to be headed to the home cinema, but he didn’t stop there and instead followed the hallway further to its end. Behind the last door was another bathroom, one with a gigantic whirlpool which could have easily fit a handful of people. Kavinsky poured hot water into the pool and undressed himself. It was the first time Ronan saw him naked and he liked what he saw. Kavinsky was tall and lean, his collar bones prominent, his stomach flat and showing a hint of muscle. Ronan swallow hard. With a wicked grin, Kavinsky entered the whirlpool and Ronan followed him, his clothes already in a heap on the floor. The boys were high and neither Kavinsky nor Ronan could tell if this was just due to the drugs or because of something else, too.

That night in the whirlpool they fucked for the first time. Kavinsky pressed Ronan against the pool’s edge, kisses trailing down his spine as he entered him with one finger. He carefully stretched him even though the cocaine would suppress the pain anyway. Ronan sucked in a sharp breath as Kavinsky added a second digit and scissored him. Ronan grabbed the pool’s edge, knuckles turning white, moaning and begging for Kavinsky to finally enter him. Kavinsky had fucked while he was high many times already, but this time he let himself get carried away. When he entered Ronan, the world turned upside down and a low moan escaped Kavinsky’s throat. He fucked him hard until Ronan came hot and shaking, and kept going until he found his own intense release. He planted kisses all over Ronan’s neck and shoulders, trying to stay silent although he wanted to scream his name. But he mustn’t let himself get attached to Ronan Lynch out of all people. This were just the sweet sins the drug whispered in his ears.

They didn’t bother drying themselves off, and naked as they were they headed back to Kavinksy’s room. Kavinsky took Ronan there again. When they finished, they were both spent for the night. But before Ronan let the exhaustion overwhelm him he got up and rummaged through Kavinsky’s closet. He put on one of his shirts and a pair of jeans. Throwing one last glance at Kavinsky asleep on the bed, Ronan smiled and took a picture before leaving the mansion and driving back to Monmouth.

When Kavinsky woke up again he was alone, alone with the demons in his head and the drugs in his room. He took several pills and drew another line of coke. It was a two-edged sword being able to steal the substances from his dreams. While it made him feel alive, it was ruining him. Because he didn’t feel like he’d enough already, he got up, found a full bottle of something he deduced to be vodka and took some big gulps. Then he collapsed on his bed again, his head spinning. All sorts of sensations were coursing through his body—he loved being high. He loved it as much as he hated Ronan Lynch.

Kavinsky forced himself to stay awake. For once, he didn’t want to go to his dream place, because what had happened tonight was more beautiful than any dream of his could ever wish to be. He grabbed his phone and texted Ronan.

_Sweet dreams princess._

He added a picture of himself on his bed with his sunglasses on. He didn’t want Ronan to see his eyes with their pupils dilated from the drugs. He was ashamed of himself for being high all the time but he’d gone down that road too far already and there was no turning back.

His phone buzzed. _Go to sleep K._

Kavinsky smiled and closed his eyes as his body slowly came down from the high again.

 

His alarm went off early in the morning and its sound made Kavinsky’s stomach turn around. He jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, where his stomach emptied itself. He hadn’t felt like he’d puked his insides out in a long time. He brushed his teeth, did some coke for breakfast and drove to school where he met his pack. Everything was normal, except that nothing was.

_You look like shit._

Kavinsky almost laughed. _Just like you._ Of course it was a lie—Ronan looked handsome as always. Tired and wasted, maybe, but not much more than usual. Kavinsky, on the other hand, looked and felt like complete shit.

It had been weeks since his first sexual encounter with Ronan Lynch and ever since they met almost every night. Kavinsky would get high and never fuck Ronan sober. He couldn’t accept that his feelings weren’t completely drug induced. Sometimes they’d do it in the home cinema, sometimes in his room, but most often in the back of the Mitsubishi or on its hood. Life was good when he was with Ronan Lynch. They were crashing and burning and soon the flame would die.

The coke helped him survive school but Kavinsky was spent. He didn’t have much strength left. As soon as he let himself drop onto the driver's seat of his beloved Mitsubishi his exhaustion caught up on him. When the driver's door was opened the sudden rush of cold wind surprised Kavinsky. Ronan towered over him and Kavinsky was sure he had never seen anything more appealing.

“Fuck off, Lynch.”

“Get your ass out of the car.”

“No.”

“Now.

Kavinsky dragged himself out of the car. He didn’t know why he was listening to Ronan but he didn’t care either. In silence, they went to Ronan’s BMW. People saw them and began gossiping in hushed whispers. Ronan flipped someone the finger before he got into his car. He turned down the volume of his music and Kavinsky took a grateful breath. His senses were still messed up and his body couldn’t deal with noise. Ronan drove him home and brought him to his room. It was more than Kavinsky would have ever expected. But Ronan was here, even though he didn’t have to be. Ronan had brought him home when he could have let Kavinsky drive by himself or when Prokopenko, Skov, Jiang or Swan could have taken care of him instead as well.

Kavinsky forced himself to stay awake until he heard the BMW leave, then took a pill from the nightstand sending him straight to his dream place. His thoughts were a mess and he couldn't focus on anything he wanted to steal. There was nothing left anyway. He had almost everything and that which was left, he couldn’t have.

When he woke up again, Kavinsky felt empty but sober. A glance at the clock told him he had slept through the entire afternoon and most of the night. He took a shower and told his friends to come over and bring a lot of people to throw a party in his living room. While he waited for everyone to arrive, he set up the music.

It was almost five a.m. Everyone who’d made it to the mansion was already tired by then and they comfortably enjoyed a few beers while a joint made its rounds. Kavinsky got high, too. It was a beautiful night and for once Kavinsky didn’t feel like he had to achieve the level of wasted required to forget his own name. Instead he enjoyed himself, talking to his friends about nothing extraordinary. He knew that they didn’t really like him, that they only spent time with him because he had the best drugs and threw the best substance parties in town. And they were friends with him because they needed someone to lead them. Kavinsky was friends with them because he hated being alone, and because he liked to lead.

Around eight in the morning he threw them all out of his house and slept some more. His body was exhausted and if he hadn’t run on coke, he probably wouldn’t have been able to get up anymore. The cocaine turned his body numb and his mind euphoric.

On Sunday two weeks later Prokopenko came over. Maybe being a dream creature made him know when his creator wasn’t feeling well. Or maybe he was just genuinely worried. When he let himself in, the smell of fresh pizza hit Kavinsky’s nostrils and his stomach growled in anticipation.

“Eat. You look horrible.”

Kavinsky stared at Prokopenko for a long time, then smirked. He had done a good job, stealing him from his dreams. Prokopenko was attractive, with a kind smile and sharp, Slavic features. He had dark blond curls, a prominent nose, and lips to die for. He was Kavinsky’s wet dreams that came to life.

Proko sat down next to Kavinsky and watched him eat the pizza. Kavinsky devoured all of it—he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. When was the last time something other than drugs had passed through his system? It must have been days.

When Kavinsky finished the pizza Prokopenko looked at him like Ronan did, only more honest. Prokopenko wanted him and didn’t feel ashamed of it, didn’t try to hide it.

Kavinsky sat on Prokopenko’s lap. He kissed him slowly and rolled his hips. Both could tell something was different. Kavinsky was still in charge, but when Prokopenko thrust his hips against Kavinsky’s Kavinsky moaned softly. Hesitantly, Prokopenko undressed Kavinsky and then himself. Kavinsky held onto his shoulder with one hand, nails digging into muscle. With the other hand he stretched himself. Prokopenko watched, turned on. He had never seen anything as alluring as Kavinsky in that moment, pleasure written all over his face. He kissed Kavinsky’s neck but restrained from leaving marks—Kavinsky hated hickeys. With his hands on the other boy’s hips, Prokopenko helped Kavinsky slide down his length.

They did it slowly with much kissing and soft moans involved, and it had never felt better. Prokopenko knew something was wrong. Kavinsky knew it was the end.

 

Another week passed and everything seemed normal enough at first glance. Ronan lay awake in his room, like he usually did at night. He felt nervous and his thoughts kept returning to Joseph Kavinsky. He knew something was wrong with him, and not just his personality and habits. _Addictions_ , he corrected himself, _not habits_.

Ronan hadn't heard of Kavinsky in days. He’d only shown up to half his classes, but it wasn’t like Ronan was a story book student, either. Earlier that day, he had cornered Prokopenko and asked him about Kavinsky. Prokopenko hadn’t have much to say besides, “He’s not here,” and, “Leave him alone. You’re wrecking him.” Ronan had barked a hollow laugh at that.

With an annoyed growl, he got up and grabbed his keys from the nightstand. For once, Ronan didn’t give a shit if his boots were making noise as he strode through Monmouth Manufacturing. He slammed the door with enough force to wake the dead, and by the time he’d started his BMW he was sure he saw Gansey at the window. He didn’t care and he had a hunch that this was going to be the last time he’d drive to the Kavinsky mansion anyway.

When he arrived, he rang the doorbell even though he could have let himself in. Tonight, it just seemed more appropriate to ring. Kavinksy opened the door and his appearance shocked Ronan. He had seen Kavinsky in terrible shape before but the boy standing in front of him now was a shadow of the boy he… loved? Did he love Kavinsky, at least as much as one could love him? He certainly didn’t hate him anymore. Probably had never hated him in the first place. Ronan pulled Kavinsky into a hug, something he had never done before. He held Kavinsky close for a long time, his face buried in his soft brown hair, breathing in his scent. Ronan’s heart raced against his ribs and there was a tingling in his stomach. He felt high even though he was sober, and a look at Kavinsky’s eyes told him he was, too. In them he saw the rawness of every emotion a human being could feel. Ronan swallowed hard. He wanted to look away, unsure if he could handle a sober Kavinsky. Ronan’s chest tightened. Everything hurt and he wanted to rip himself apart..

Wordlessly, they entered the mansion. Kavinsky led Ronan into the living room. It was a complete mess, empty alcohol bottles and cocaine bags strewn everywhere. Clothes had been thrown all over the floor and the furniture, and Ronan could tell Kavinsky had lived in the living room for the past days. His frail, thin body had failed to carry him up the stairs. It hurt so much to see Joseph Kavinsky this broken.

“You’re lucky, I just took a shower,” Kavinsky said.

“Joseph, what are you doing?” There was no reproach in his voice, only worry. It was the first time he addressed him with his first name, making it clear he was serious.

“Staying sober? For once.”

“It’s good to see you sober.”

“It’s horrible. Make me feel good, Ro, one last time. Please.” Joseph Kavinsky was not one to beg. Ronan closed the distance between them and kissed him as softly and gently as he could, afraid Joseph might break from simple touch. With his hand against Kavinky’s chest, Ronan guided them down onto the couch. They kissed for a long time, sharing soft touches and whispered words in-between. They took their time, only slowly removing their clothes, Ronan letting his fingers explore every inch of Joseph’s body as he did the same. Both tried to etch every bone, every muscle, every part of the other’s body into memory. Kavinsky’s was weak, and Ronan kissed it everywhere. The sex was gentle, Kavinsky giving in and letting Ronan take over. They moved their hips slowly, their limbs entangled. The sex itself became trivial, focus being on kisses and touches. When they shared their most intimate and intense orgasms, Ronan whispered Joseph’s name. Afterwards, they cuddled and kissed some more. Ronan waited for Kavinsky to fall asleep who fought his exhaustion, but lost due to his weak body and mind. Kissing his forehead one last time, Ronan got up and dressed, and left the big, lonely mansion that was no place for a boy like Joseph.

Ronan drove back to Monmouth, entering it as loudly as he had left before. Gansey was still awake even though Ronan must have been gone for hours. He looked at him like he sometimes did, as if he could see through Ronan’s skin and bones and knew what lay underneath.

“It’s over,” Ronan said and went to his room. For the rest of the night, he listened to music, music Joseph Kavinsky would have loved. He didn’t drink this night because if Kavinsky could stay sober one night, then he could, too.

Everything ended a few days later, on the fourth of July. Both had known this was the only possible conclusion to what they had had—there had never been another way out. Ronan couldn’t forgive Joseph for having taken the shortcut, for having put an end to everything.

Ronan didn’t cry. Maybe if Ronan had, maybe if Ronan had told Joseph he loved him no matter what, maybe then he could have saved him. Maybe if he had forgiven him for what he’d done to Matthew and to himself, maybe then Ronan could have let go.  
  
---


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